A/N: This is a new and improved version of Chapter 1. If you want to know why and what I'm editing, please see the chapter labeled "A/N".
"Hit me up with some of that apple pie," Dean Winchester smiled at the waitress. The brunette blushed and jotted that down. His brother, Sam, shook his head in amusement. It wasn't unlike Dean to flirt with every pretty woman he came across. When the waitress left, Dean gave Sam a defensive look. "What?"
Sam chuckled. "So, what about that case?"
"The case?" Then Dean remembered the reason why the two of them were sitting in a diner in Frank Rock, North Dakota. "Right. The mind control monster."
"Yeah. I've got a few leads…" Sam flipped open his laptop and sorted through several files before coming to the right one. "Here." He turned the computer around to show Dean. "This is the article that most details the last attack."
Dean squinted at the small type. "'Neighbor Claims Controlled Man Murdered Family, Killed by Controller'?" He glanced up at Sam doubtfully. "Sounds like the guy was ordered to kill his family. I'd say gang business."
Sam rolled his eyes. "What could someone possibly have against him to make a guy murder his own family? Read on."
Dean's green eyes scanned the report. "'Acted like a changed man… no hesitation… didn't even flinch… obeyed controller like a dog.' Demon, then? And the 'controller' could be the demon's boss."
"While you were at the bar, I was investigating the crime scene. No sulfur. I talked to the neighbor and he didn't see any black eyes at all."
Dean shrugged. "Okay, well, then it's a special case. I say demon."
"Well, if it is, and I'm not saying it isn't, we still have to deal with the fact that the guy who killed his family was just a guy. When he was killed, he was just plain shot. No special blade or Colt involved. The guy just fell down dead, Dean. No special effects or anything."
"So the demon did something to him," Dean concluded.
Suddenly, a loud crash came from outside the diner and Sam and Dean jolted up to look. The sound was followed by panicked screaming and gunfire. Sam didn't hesitate to rush outside to see what the matter was. Dean stared longingly at the pie, which had just emerged with the waitress from the kitchen, for a moment before tearing his gaze away and racing after Sam. Every time he ordered pie, he never seemed to get it.
Outside the diner, a shooter pointed gun at his own head. He looked about thirty and strangely calm. Across the parking lot, a woman about the same age sobbed. "Don't do this, Hal!" She blubbered. "Don't do this. I love you!"
Hal remained unaffected. 'Snap out of it, Hal!" Dean yelled.
"He's not possessed," Sam muttered. Then, with a bang, Hal pulled the trigger and collapsed on the ground. A pool of blood began to gather around his wound. The woman tore out to his body and lifted his head off the ground, wailing. Sam looked around and watched as more people crowded around him and several other dead bodies in the vicinity. He moved to toward them to help. "Someone call 911!" He ordered.
Meanwhile, Dean noticed a man slip away. He looked pleased with himself and furtive. Dean quickly started to tail him. The man, dressed in holey plaid and an unruly red beard, slipped through town like he'd done this many times before. He made his way through city alleys and out into the nearby woods. Dean kept his distance, making sure not to let on his presence.
The man trekked for several minutes into the forest until it cleared away to reveal a weedy, dried out lot. Dean hid behind a tree trunk. It wasn't safe to follow further. He could have easily been caught in the wide open. Peeking out from behind a branch, Dean saw the man disappear into a shabby house in the center of the small lot. He mentally noted the location of the house and turned away to return to the crime scene.
Once the brothers returned to their motel room, Sam pulled up a document on his laptop screen. "Here's the blueprints to the house you found."
"Why do we need blueprints?" Dean scoffed. "How about plain and simple breaking and entering?"
"Well, you should thank me. This makes the job easier. Do you know how deep I had to look to find these?"
Dean shook his head, uninterested. "Whatever. What do we need to gank this mother?"
"Since we don't know exactly what he is, I'd say, to be on the safe side, the demon blade, iron, salt and gasoline, and a gun."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Just because you like to play it safe. Wuss."
Sam chuckled. He rummaged through the trunk of Dean's 1967 Chevrolet Impala, checking to see if everything was in order. "Let's go," he told Dean as he closed the trunk with a final click.
Dean crouched behind the corner of a creepy shack, the wooden paneling pressed up against his leather jacket and wispy weeds tickling his ear. He held his gun in both hands, listening intently for any movement. The silence signaling "all clear," Dean whipped around the corner, not letting his guard down in the slightest. With an extra glance in every direction, he pushed lightly at the rotting door, wincing when it creaked open. Without a second thought, he burst through the doorway and held his pistol an arm's length away from him. The room, seemingly unused for decades, was small and layered with cobwebs and dust. There wasn't anything demonic in here, so Dean continued through the only door. It led to another dusty room with only one door leading out. Stepping lightly on the floorboards, Dean made sure not to let a single creak escape the moldy wooden planks. Once he got to the next door, he continued his routine. Listen closely, ready the gun, and kick open the door. The moment he did, he nearly lost the grip on his pistol and landed with a loud thump on the hardwood.
Looking up with wild eyes, Dean shoved the grinning thing off his chest and braced himself for a fight. He stood, staring eye to eye with the same man, though this time with demonic black eyes. His middle aged face was shrouded with a giant curly beard, red with streaks of gray. A baseball cap barely contained the mess at the top of his head. The demon grinned, wiping his grimy hands on his flannel shirt and rough jeans.
Sam, meanwhile, found himself in a dusty parlor room. Various belongings and pictures were strewn around, untouched for decades and the only evidence of a previous life in this decrepit shack. Intrigued by the yellowed photographs and boarded up windows, he began to inspect the myriad of objects. He peered at the pictures that showed a happy family of six, when the lot was a lush meadow and a creek still trickled steadily nearby. An orb to the side of a vanity mirror caught his eye next. Without thinking, Sam picked up the dusty, grimy, blue sphere and blew on it. The dust floated off, revealing an intricate silver design.
He pulled down his sleeve and rubbed the front of the ornament. A smooth, mirror-esque surface seemed to gather all the scant light available in the dark house and then shine it all into Sam's eyes. Then, all the light was gone. Blinded for a moment, Sam shut his eyes to readjust. When he blinked them open again, he turned the ornament around to read the inscription on the back.
"Quod non videant oculi tui," it read in a looping, archaic script. Sam quickly translated it. See what your eyes cannot. He blinked in confusion.
Dean's booming voice in the next room reminded him of his mission. He immediately dropped the ornament back on the dresser and hastened to find the source of his brother's voice. With the sound now faded, he racked his mind, trying to figure out exactly when Dean could be. Next time, no matter what Dean said, he was going to bring blueprints.
"So, I finally meet the famous Dean Winchester. You know, I once faced your dad. Put up quite a fight, I have to say. Nearly lost an arm, but he was no match for me. Too bad he got away." The demon was having fun, watching as Dean's expression hardened. "Oh, well. At least I get to finish the job with you and your pesky brother." He cocked his scruffy head, his blackened eyes glittering. "Where is he, anyway? With his little girlfriend, Jessica? Oh, wait." The demon smirked. "I forgot. She died. My apologies."
Dean barely gave the demon enough time to finish his last silky remark before he angrily aimed Colt gun at his heart and let a loud gunshot ring out through the woods. Upon hearing that, Sam rushed up the basement stairs and stood gaping at the dead man lying on the floor. Dean glared at the corpse, breathing heavily and watching what was left of the demon and his meatsuit trembled with orange electricity before he stopped and lay still.
After recovering from the initial shock, Sam yelled, "Are you out of your mind?! We could've saved the guy! I thought we agreed on not killing unless lives are in danger!"
Dean glanced up at Sam, resentment clearly written in his eyes. "Sorry." But Dean wasn't sorry at all.
Dean gripped the steering wheel of his prized Impala so tightly his knuckles went white. He stared out at the endless country road ahead of him and flicked the radio on. Loud rock music flooded the car, only to be silenced by Sam a few seconds later. It was a childish game- on, off, on, off- and neither of them spoke a word. Finally, Dean gave up and exclaimed, "Why are you so mad at me, Sam?" He slammed his hand on the wheel, a loud honk emanating from the impact.
"Oh, I'm not mad at you," Sam replied fakely, his tone too cheery for his stony, forward expression.
"Stop lying, Sam," he warned.
Sam jumped slightly but kept his cool. "I'm not lying."
"Does it have to do with our last hunt?" Again, Dean's tone was upset and very, very fed up. Suddenly, Sam doubled over, his fingertips quickly reaching up to his temples. "Sam!"
Sam was in a house. A modern, single family home, with all the lights turned on and the curtains closed, indicating night time. A girl, possibly in her early teens, was sitting at a small table against a wallpapered wall, doing her homework and a denim backpack spilled out at her feet. Suddenly, a woman stumbled into the kitchen. Her eyes were black as the night, but the girl didn't seem to notice as she looked up with concern and said, "Mom? Are- are you alright?"
Her mother laughed and bent over, coughing. When she stood up again, her eyes flashed. The girl noticed and, scared, fumbled with her pencil, accidentally dropping it on the floor.
"Mom?" The woman asked evilly. "No, I'm not your mother. I'm afraid she's long gone by now." The girl, whoever she was, began to realize, horribly, that her mother was possessed- or at least terribly unwell. Her expression showed that clearly, like she was an open book. "And you, Caterina Winchester, are going to pay."
The demonic lady stalked over, high heels clicking on the linoleum floor. She threw her arm out and sent Caterina flying. The girl landed pinned on the kitchen wall next to the table and slowly inched upwards.
"No!" She screamed frantically, eyes wide in near hysteria and tears threatening to spill over. "No! Mom! I didn't do anything bad, I swear! Mom! No! No, please..."
Caterina was pressed onto the ceiling now. A bloody cut began to slash its way across her stomach and the girl was frozen, unable to move or scream for help. Blood dripped from her wound and a few seconds later, Caterina exploded into flames, taking the whole house with her.
Sam blinked and found himself back in Dean's Impala with a worried brother and a splitting headache.
"What was it, Sam, another one of your death-visions?" It was more of a demand than a question.
"No, can't be," he disagreed. "I haven't had those for years." Then the memory of the ornament and its inscription flashed in his mind's eye. "It's a curse. Or at least a spell. Some kind of magic," he rambled.
Dean squinted at him in doubt. "What?"
"There was this ornament, at the demon's house. It reflected all the light in the house in my eyes." Sam told the whole story of what happened, not leaving out a detail. He'd forgotten that he'd been angry at Dean and was now only agitated. Then he skipped to the tale of the girl in the house. "And- and the girl's name was Winchester. Caterina Winchester. I wonder if that's a coincidence. "